Chapter 12

The girl turned around to where Piotr and his men had been waiting, a respectful distance away. It seemed Alexei was not just anyone to them after all. She motioned for Piotr to come back at her side to help her. She could have asked Alexei but the man was a giant and her shoulder wouldn't have bear to settle higher than its own height. Piotr was the right crutch, it seemed. And he was only too happy to help.

"Go on," Alexei waved her away, "I'll call the doctor to check up on you. You have any casualties?" He asked Piotr.

"A few broken bones for maybe three people that I know of. The rest is bruises and scratches. We had them three to one."

Vladimir had summoned the whole cavalry. Alexei nodded, sending them on their way.

Once she was sitting on the living room's couch, she shivered. It turned into shaking. She was exhausted and yet too wired to sleep. She knew that state. She had lived thought it once. She was going into shock. She had to focus on her breath, taking long, deep, regular intakes of air. She tried to close her eyes. It got worse. The only things she could see were red hair and green eyes.

"Cami?" Piotr called her softly. She didn't react. "Hey, Cami," he put a hand on her shoulder and shook her lightly. It brought her back to present. "You want something to drink?" He asked once her eyes had focused back on him. He was handing her a pack of Vladimir's Marlboros and the ashtray. She took it with shaking hands. Piotr had to help her with the lighter. She frowned. She was miserable. She hated it.

Get a grip, damn it!

"Yes, Piotr, I'd like to have a coffee, if you can make one." Because caffeine mixed with adrenaline and nicotine was what her body needed right now, she thought ironically. Fuck it. She'd be healthy later.

"Sure." He motioned for one of the men to go and make one. She smiled, despite everything. It was a small, wavering thing but it was there. And that was something, at least.

"You know, when Vladimir said you mustn't take your eyes off me, I don't think he meant it literally," she whispered in a small but teasing voice.

"I think he did." Piotr was serious. Eventually, after much hesitation, he added: "It was a shock, you know, for all of us." She was curious. And a little grateful. Conversation was what she needed. Not heavy silences.

"What was?" She asked. He smiled at her, happy that she was back on earth probably.

"To discover Vladimir was head over heels for the cute barmaid of the Red Star." She tried to object but he cut her. "He is. You should have seen him. He would have burned the world to the ground tonight. Even us were scared. Anatoly was worried too. For you. He took the search's lead when he realized Vladimir was so enraged, we were all shitting our pants."

What was she supposed to say to that?

"You said nobody got badly hurt?" She asked instead.

"Nope!" He seemed very proud of it. She guessed that it was an operation that would leave an impression. In her opinion, they'd been military efficient. Nobody had heard them coming, not when they'd arrived and not even when they'd killed the Irishmen on the upper floors one by one. She knew she would never forget the sound of all those bodies falling from the sky. For a very different reason though. When the guns had shot the men surrounding Vladimir, she had really thought he was dead, shot down by dozens of hidden snippers. This feeling, this utter and total despair at the thought that he was gone, she would remember for some time. To say the least...

A man brought her coffee. She thanked him but frowned. It was strange to see so many people in Vladimir's personal space. It felt like intrusion. Piotr must have felt it too for, when Alexei entered with a doctor in tow, he barked something in Russian.

"We'll be right outside if you need anything okay?"

All men save for the doctor and Alex vacated the space. She breathed a little easier, sipping her coffee.

"What's her name?" She heard the doctor ask.

"Camille," Alexei's gruffy voice answered. He went out the door too. Leaving Camille alone with the doctor. The stranger came closer with slow, measured steps as if approaching a wild, scared animal.

"Hello, Camille," He said with a gentle smile. "I'm Dr Meyers. I'm here to see to your potential injuries. Will you let me take a look at you?" She nodded, surprised he wasn't Russian. She had gotten used to expect Russians when meeting new people now.

The consultation took forever in Camille's opinion, but she got to admit the doctor was thorough. He had diagnosed a badly bruised cheekbone, thankfully not broken. The crack must have come from the man's hand bones, he informed her. A human skull was solid. A human hand, not so much.

Proof of it? Her hand was broken. When he had stopped her punch, the redhead had crushed it. Several bones were broken but hopefully a cast would be enough. He explained to her that there were many bones in the human hand and those that seemed to be broken in hers were not the worst ones. She wouldn't lose dexterity, hopefully, although he still admitted it was a good thing she was no pianist.

Her ribs were cracked in two places. She had an impressive number of cuts and bruises all over her but all in all, he said, she had been lucky.

Depends on who you asked, she supposed. She didn't feel very lucky right now.

He explained she would have to get someone to drive her to his clinic tomorrow for an X-Ray for her hand. She'd have to be careful tonight but, given her exhaustion, the cast could wait until tomorrow. Then, he would settle the bones straight and put a cast on her hand. She'd have it for a month.

Great, no right hand for a month. That would be easy to handle!

Regarding her cracked ribs, she'd have to stay home, moving only to do the basics like peeing and showering for a week at least. She was allowed to go from the bed to the couch too. She had asked. He gave her a tube of gel for the bruises, warning her that her sides and arms and face would be black and blue for a while. He also gave her a prescription to have someone to get her more. He finally gave her a disinfectant for the cuts and some painkillers if needed. That was when Vladimir came home.

The poor doctor turned white, then green, then white again when he saw the new incomer. He was stilled bloodied everywhere, except some of it had dried on his skin in caked spots. New blood was on top of the old one, tattoos almost disappearing underneath it. His hair was matted with it too. His bulletproof jacket was still on and he had yet to let go of his riffle...He was a dark and red apparition with wide, crazed blue eyes. They softened slightly when he saw her on the couch. His stare roamed her body in search of injuries, stopped on her stiff right hand, before getting his attention back to the doctor.

"How badly is she hurt?" He asked.

With a slightly disturbed voice at the sight of him, the doctor resumed his list of injuries. He also took the opportunity to repeat that she would need to come to the clinic the next day and move as little as possible for a week. At this, Vladimir looked at her. She shrank under the stare he gave her. She had a feeling there would be hell to pay if she didn't listen to this.

Damn it, he was starting to know her too well. She was a terrible patient. On a normal day, she could happily do the potato couch all day long. Now that she was forbidden to move, she itched to do something, anything.

"She might need help for a while. Her good hand will be in a cast, her ribs will impair her movements. She has cream to put on her bruises…" The doctor kept going.

"I'll help." Vladimir acknowledged. At this, the doctor cleared his throat uneasily.

"I'd advise against any... activities of a sexual nature for at least a week or two."

Camille was mortified. First, because it was awkward, hearing him say this to them both. But also because she wouldn't have sex for at least a week! And she longed to make the feeling of the redhead's hands on her body vanish with the feeling of Vladimir's.

If asked before how she'd react to any level of sexual assault, she'd have gone with not wanting any man near her for some time. It went the other way around. Piotr's and Alexei's presence had comforted her. And right now, she wanted to feel Vladimir's arms around her. And she felt entitled to some well-deserved release!

He laughed at the despair he must have seen etched on her face. Bastard. His laughter made the doctor even more uneasy. Now, he was downright looking like a mad serial killer.

"I'll make sure she rests like she's supposed to." He assured the doctor, serious again. "Can she take showers, move a little?"

"Yes, actually she should. Moving is good, but she will have to take it easy first. And be very careful with her hand today." Vladimir nodded in acknowledgment. He decided to drop his gun against a wall, at last. "Do you..." The doctor cleared his throat once again. The poor man was terrorized by the Russian in front of him. She could understand that. "Do you need me to take a look at you too?"

"Nah," He waved to doctor away. "I'm fine." The man couldn't help the aghast look on his face. He recovered fast enough, thought.

"Alright then. I'm off. I'll see you tomorrow, Camille. Call me if you need anything."

Camille thanked him and took his card. As soon as he was gone, she focused back on her lover. He was dripping blood all over the rug, the cleaning lady would curse him to Hell and back. Following her line of sight, he growled.

"I'll go shower." He stopped. "You okay to stay alone for a sec?"

"Go take a shower Vladimir, you look like a demon from hell. I'll smoke another in the meantime." She reassured him, pointing to the pack of cigarettes. She winced as she tried to get comfortable on the couch. Every movement hurt. Not using her right end was against her instincts.

She sighed. These were going to be very long weeks…

When Vladimir still didn't move, his frowning face still focused on her lost battle against discomfort, she changed tactic. "Is Piotr still there?" She asked, the ghost of a cheeky smile gracing her lips. "I could do with his company." She didn't manage to keep the smirk off her face for long. Vladimir's, first worried, turned exasperated.

"Right," he said. "You're fine for now."

She heard him muttered something in Russian as he went for the bathroom.

She was fine. Kind of. She had been scared shitless to get raped. She had been scared shitless that Vladimir might be dead. However, in the end, she hadn't been raped and he hadn't been killed. He was fine and she wasn't badly hurt. All things considered the doctor was right, she had been lucky.

Sure, she wasn't about to wander alone down the street anytime soon but in this apartment, she felt safe and alright. The adrenaline was slowly going down in her system. Her eyelids were heavy. Yet, she was still too wired to sleep, some remnant of fear still there. Hopefully, in a few hours, she'd be able to.

When Vladimir came out of the shower, wearing only sweatpants and a towel around his shoulders, his hair dripping wet, she smiled at him. He was still worried, she could see. He was also hurt. It didn't look bad but she could see the beginning of a bruise on his left hip, a few cuts on his hands. He was also starting to have a black eye and he had sewn his right eyebrow shut.

"Your turn now," he said, coming toward her. He helped her to get up. She didn't argue, she could do with a good long warm shower. Or a bath! God, she had forgot he had a bathtub. She was about to ask when she stopped in front of the entrance mirror. Her reflection looked at her, shocked.

She had caked blood on the right side of her hairline, a wound was underneath it. Her jaw and right cheekbone were already getting a nasty shade of black. Her cheekbone's skin was cut. It had spread blood all over her cheek. Her white shirt was torn, dirty and stained with blood. Vladimir's leather jacket was beyond saving…She looked like she had been rolled over by a truck.

"Come on, let's get you showered." Vladimir pulled lightly on the hand he still held, the left one. Hand that was scratched and bruised too. Her nails were a mess... Her right hand was turning a nasty shade of black as it kept sending blasts of pain down her arm.

She followed him, the bath forgotten for now. She had never looked like this. She almost didn't recognize herself. Still, she was safe and that was what mattered.

"I destroyed your jacket." She commented as he started the shower spray for her while snorting and shaking his head in disbelief. She was thankful for it, bending forward was going to be hell for a while. "I'm sorry."

Vladimir helped her out of her clothes. He didn't let his hands linger. He was just helping her like he'd have helped a child. Getting the jacket out of the way without touching her hand took some time…

"I told you to stop stealing my stuff," he replied. "Now, I'm heartbroken. It was my favorite jacket."

She didn't register the irony in his tone.

"I'll buy you another one."

He muttered something in Russian.

"I don't care about the jacket, love." It was said in such a matter-of-fact way that she let it go. Maybe he really didn't. "You're safe. That is what matters." She stared at him, thankful beyond words. She was safe. Thanks to him. She went to touch his hair, as she often did, but stopped midway. He was clean and she wasn't. "Now, be a good girl and wash yourself."

She did. With his help. The next month was about to be utter crippling torture… She couldn't even open a bottle of shampoo, for fuck's sake! She couldn't wash her hair on her own for that matter. Vladimir had to get naked again and get into the shower to help her.

She was embarrassed, not liking her new infirmity at all.

"I'm sure I can manage," she tried. He smirked down at her.

"Yes, you can. But it is going to take longer. And you already take hours to shower on a normal day."

She hit him lightly with her left hand, wincing when her cuts met his skin. He was right. She bet his water bill had doubled since she almost lived here. She blushed again and looked down, her eyes falling on his half-hard cock. She looked up to his stomach then, frustrated by all the things she wouldn't be able to do for now.

Once she was dried, they headed back for the living room, each lighting a smoke with the window open. Vladimir let out an exhausted groan as he sat by her side, his arms extended on the back seat and his head bent against it. His legs were sprawled in front of him. Camille took her usual spot by his side, positioning her back just a little straighter against his naked chest to spare her ribs.

"I lost my bag." She said, after some time. She'd realized it a while ago, and didn't really mind for now, but it seemed like a good place to start.

"One of my men found it. It's back at Veles Taxi's. I'll get it for you tomorrow before we go to the clinic." She supposed they'd end up sleeping what was left of the day away, probably all next night too.

Another silence fell around them. She had so many things she wanted to say. She wanted to talk about this night with him. She wanted to thank him for his help, with the Irishmen, with the doctor, for taking her to the clinic tomorrow, for getting her bag. She didn't know where to start thought. The more she racked her brain, the less she came up with something.

"I thought I'd lost you tonight." Vladimir eventually confessed in a gruffy tone. He didn't like to talk about his feelings. But this, he needed to say, it seemed. She could relate.

"I thought I'd lost you too." Vladimir got rid of his stub and took her in his arms, careful of her ribs and hand.

"I'm not that easy to kill," he simply replied. She supposed he indeed was not. "I'm sorry," he added after a time.

She cocked her head at him.

"Why?"

"It was my fault," was his answer. She turned around in his arm, slowly, to stare at him, dumbfounded.

"It wasn't your fault," she replied, her voice stern. Well, she could see why he felt that way, sure. It was tempting to think he was right. It would be easy, blaming it all on him. "It wasn't," she insisted when he was about to object. "I mean, sure, if I wasn't…" If she wasn't what? Dating him? "If we weren't what we are now, I wouldn't have been kidnapped to be bait."

His eyes hardened at the memory. She moved on.

"But I knew who you were when all this started. I knew what I was getting myself into. And besides, I could have never met you, kept working for Alex and one night, a stranger, maybe even one of your men, could have robbed, raped and killed me as I got back from work."

She knew she was right. Shit happens. That's life. She knew. She had known long before she came to Hell's Kitchen.

"I could have gotten raped tonight." She had to swallow, a whimper still trying to make its way to her throat despite all her reasoning. "You could have gotten killed. We could have gotten killed. It didn't happen. I was scared." She let a derisive snort out. "Shit, who am I kidding? I was more than scared. My brain fried for a while back there. But you came. You saved me and it's over."

She wasn't putting on a brave face. It really was over. She'd overcome it in time. The fear of what had happened was already ebbing away. The fear of what could still happen however…

"Let's focus on how to make it so it doesn't happen again," she whispered, her head back to her favorite place in the crook of his neck.

"It won't happen again," Vladimir swore in her hair. "I promise you it won't."

After a long silence, so long Camille had almost dozed off in his arms, he went on.

"Tomorrow, after the clinic, I'll go and get the things you need from your place. You're staying here for now."

In a typical Vladimir fashion, he hadn't asked her to stay with him. He'd ordered her.

"Vladimir, I-" She tried. He didn't let her finish.

"After you're healed, we will talk about it again. For now, you need someone to look after you. And I won't let out of my sight. I can't."

His voice had a strange ring to it. She had to think a little harder to get what felt wrong. When she got it, she cuddled even closer to him. It wasn't for her safety he wanted her here. Well, it wasn't only for it. He had been scared too. That was the strange thing in his voice: fear. She was beginning to understand why it was the first thing he had said sooner that night. He'd thought he had lost her. And maybe, just maybe, it wasn't his pride that had been hurt at the thought. Maybe it had been his heart.

She knew hers had stopped when the guns had rung out.

"I'll stay."

Her pride, in another time, might have refused to let her live with him so soon, like a lost puppy. However, she was too scared by what could happen when she'd be alone in her seedy building to care. For now.